


Casework and Conferences

by Foxtrots



Series: Beginnings and Endings [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: It's part of a series but can be read as a stand-alone, John's morality ruins the day, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 20:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9402509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxtrots/pseuds/Foxtrots
Summary: A hotel after all, was the best place to have an affair: it was out of town, away from family, and the only person who needed to be checked into the room was the tenant.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series, but it can be read as a stand-alone. The only recap for the series itself is John and Mary's baby is named Eleanor and in the previously, John got himself drunk and kissed Sherlock. That incident never got resolved. The series started before series 4 as well and no events from series 4 effects this particular AU.  
> This is also my first time writing smut so any tips or tricks to improve my smut-writing would be appreciated.   
> Also it's part of a series so there'll be more to come!

 

“Who are you, again?” John asked as he leaned back in his seat, glancing out the large window to see countryside zoom by in a blur.

“Dr Nicholas Parker,” Sherlock replied. “Cardiologist.”

John pulled a face. “You don't know anything about cardiology.”

“I know how to look the part.”

The two were headed off to a medical conference in Manchester. Of course, both were going for different reasons. John had to attend the conference and Sherlock conveniently had a case at the same location. It wasn't a case Sherlock would normally take – a wife concerned her husband was having an affair each time he left for a medical conference. The email from said wife was sitting in his inbox for a long enough time and only got a reply when Sherlock realised John was going to the very same conference the husband was. So, Sherlock came up with a new identity and added himself to the list of those attending the conference and booked himself a room at the very same hotel all the doctors were staying at.

It was just like old times: the two of them on an adventure for a case. Only, it wouldn't be much of an adventure. A boring adventure if anything. But Sherlock found in the past months he had been growing apart from John. They both led different lives and finding time to spend together was getting more and more difficult. A boring adventure would do.

John checked his watch, then looked back out the window. This was all a bit strange to him, that Sherlock happened to have a case at the exact moment John had a conference. In all honesty, he was looking forward to some time alone. Alone time was something he never seemed to have much of and he needed it now more than ever. Just time to think.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked and John sat up straight.

“Yeah, fine.” John didn't have the heart to tell Sherlock to take a different train or stay in a different hotel. The fact that the conference and case were at the same place was just a coincidence. But Sherlock was one of the things John wanted to think about. Just over a month ago, John had gotten drunk and kissed Sherlock. Since then, John had acted as if he couldn't remember that event to save himself and Sherlock the embarrassment of talking about it. But as much as he said he couldn't remember that night, he certainly could, and in great detail. “Just tired. Eleanor's been keeping me up.”

* * *

 

John's hotel room was basic. It had a bed, desk, television, radiator and attached bathroom, but none of it was overly thrilling. Beige carpet, beige walls, beige bedsheets. John placed his suitcase on the bed and frowned as it sunk into the mattress.

John turned the television on and found he only got four channels. One of them wasn't even in English. Of course, he shouldn't have expected luxury, not when the clinic was paying for his accommodations.

Sherlock was staying in a different room, a few floors above him and John was glad to have some time to himself. John even treated himself to a nice hot bath and as the night continued on, he sent a quick text to Mary and went to bed.

 

* * *

 

The conference was boring. The man suspected for cheating on his wife – Dr Richardson – droned on and on from behind a podium. The hall was full of nearly one hundred people, both young and old. Some were jotting down notes and nodding their heads as they listened, while others (like John) were ready to fall asleep. John found his bed too lumpy and didn't sleep as well as he would have liked and found it difficult to keep his eyes open.

Sherlock, who was seated beside him, didn't look all that interested either. To disguise himself, he wore a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and an ill-fitting auburn wig. It made his head feel overheated and itchy.

The case itself had already been solved – Dr Richardson was not an attractive man. No one would want to have an affair with him just based on looks, but he was a very rich man. Rich enough to pay for an affair. Dr Richardson must have thought he was so smart to figure this out. A hotel after all, was the best place to hide an affair: it was out of town, away from family, and the only person who needed to be checked into the room was Richardson himself, not any guests.

John sighed as he adjusted himself in his chair, trying to find a comfortable position. Conferences were usually this boring. For the entire day a number of doctors would drone on about their research and studies and the audience would politely sit and wait, and clap when it was appropriate. The only thing John was looking forward to was another hot bath when he got back to his room. It seemed the tub was the only pleasant thing about the entire hotel. 

When the conference was over, John stood up and stretched his back. “How's the case coming?” he muttered to Sherlock.

Sherlock adjusted his wig. “Fine. It's solved.”

John nodded. “That's good.”

The two locked eyes while the hall was emptying. There was noise and chatter around them and a few people nudged into John on their way out. The pause between them was growing awkward and John wanted to just talk. Ask if he wanted to get some dinner. Invite him to his room and get overpriced room service. Do something that would have felt natural before he kissed Sherlock. But things were ruined, weren't they? John's stupid drunken self ruined everything.

“See you tomorrow, I guess,” John said quietly. The train due to take them home was leaving early the next day. John wasn't looking forward to stuffing down a continental breakfast before racing to the train station.

 

* * *

 

John spent the evening alone flicking through the four television stations. Finally, he settled on the one that wasn't in English – it looked like some sort of soap opera and he could vaguely follow the plot. John glanced at his laptop that was still in its bag and wondered if he should video call Mary. The thought didn't last long and he went back to watching television.

A knock at the door interrupted John's viewing experience.

A strange man with thick glasses and auburn hair stood behind the door. “Room service,” he stated. In both hands were plastic bags.

“I didn't order any – ” Then he realised who the guest was.

Sherlock pulled the wig off and tossed it aside when he stepped inside the room and ran his fingers through his flattened curls. The glasses were placed on the desk along with the bags. One of the bags held two servings of fish and chips and the other carried a few bottles of wine. John never considered wine to go with fish and chips, but he wasn't about to turn it down.

The two sat on the bed eating their meal from newspapers and drinking wine from plastic cups from the bathroom. John informed Sherlock about the events happening in the show.

Sherlock kept an eye on how much wine John was drinking and frequently offered to top him off again. When that bottle was finished between the two of them, he quickly opened another. John stared into his red-stained cup and realised Sherlock was trying to get him drunk. But he wasn't sure why. Part of him wondered if it was to recreate that night when they kissed, but John quickly banished that thought, not wanting to get his hopes up. This was probably for a case. The wine probably had something laced in it. Or maybe Sherlock wanted to study the effects of a hangover.

The television show ended, only to be replaced by the next episode. A blonde woman was holding a gun at a cowering man who was pleading something. Then, a woman identical to the blonde burst into the room. The man shouted out in surprise. “It's never twins,” Sherlock mused to himself.

John held his cup out to be refilled and Sherlock obliged. The wine was making him feel warm and he knew his cheeks were turning red. Things felt looser and he felt he was able to speak what was on his mind.

“I remember,” John stated.

“Hmm?”

“That night. I don't remember all of it,” he admitted. “But I remember I got drunk. And then I went to your flat. And we talked a bit, I remember that just fine. And then it got a bit fuzzy, but I know what happened. I know what we did.”

“Oh.”

“And unless this,” he motioned to the wine, “is some sick experiment of yours, I think you're trying to do the same thing. Get me drunk so I'll kiss you again.”

Sherlock went silent.

“Is my deduction correct, Mr Holmes?” he asked with a smirk.

Sherlock stayed silent and John's heart fell to his wine-filled stomach. Shit. That wasn't the plan at all, was it? Shit, why did he say that? Why did he think that was a good idea? Now he had just made things even more worse. John downed whatever was left in his cup.

“Yes,” Sherlock said quietly.

“What?”

“Yes, your deduction is correct.”

Sherlock was sure he ruined things. Trying to get John and himself drunk so they could kiss. And what would the result be? John would go home to his wife and it would be as if this whole thing never happened. Sherlock was disgusted with himself, not only for trying to get John drunk, but for thinking he'd cheat on Mary like that.

“Did you bring condoms?”

“What?”

John shrugged. “Well if we're going to...” he cleared his throat, “I'd at least want to do it...right, I guess.”

Sherlock put a hand over his pants pocket as confirmation.

“Right then.” John nodded.

Without warning, he threw the remains of his fish and chips from his lap and awkwardly grabbed Sherlock's face and kissed him. Sherlock tasted like wine and grease and vinegar and ketchup. It wasn't a pleasant taste, but he didn't care.

Sherlock grabbed John's shoulders with his greasy fingers and pushed him into the lumpy bed.

John could hardly believe what was happening. Every fantasy he kept under lock and key for countless years were starting to come true. Sherlock desperately kissed him and they were so close together John could feel Sherlock's racing heart through his chest. John ran his fingers through Sherlock's mess of curls and the sound Sherlock made when John gave them a tug put shivers down his spine.

Sherlock pulled back for a moment and stared at John. Stared at his red cheeks and lips that had turned pink from kissing them. Stared at his expression of both confusion and surprise. John stared back at him, looked at how messy his curly hair had become. Saw the lopsided smile that was always a treat to see. 

“Well,” John said. “Get on with it.”

Sherlock began unbuttoning John's shirt. Drinking had made his coordination sloppy and he struggled to get the stubborn button through the hole. When he nearly had it, he'd lose his grip on it. John waited as patiently as he could. It felt like the button was mocking him. 

“Come on,” he urged.

“I'm trying.”

Sherlock gave up. The button was impossible. How John managed to button it this morning was beyond him. It refused to cooperate and Sherlock's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. A single button was keeping him from John. With an annoyed grunt, he tugged at the shirt and the button (along with a few others) ripped off.

John gave a surprised laugh as his shirt was ruined.

With the button out of the way, Sherlock closed the distance between himself and John and started to kiss down John's bare neck. John closed his eyes and allowed Sherlock to do what he wanted: kiss, bite, nibble. It had been ages since he was kissed like that and he wasn't about to let it stop. In fact, he wanted more.

“Can you... I like it when...” he muttered awkwardly. “Bite harder. Please.”

Sherlock was surprised at the request, but obliged, sinking his teeth into John's soft skin. John bit his lower lip as he let out a groan. Sherlock started to kiss down John's ripped shirt. Down past his chest to his bellybutton. John was squirming beneath him, shaking with excitement.

Sherlock started to undo John's belt with shaking hands. It was easier than the button at least. When that was undone, he slid John's jeans down to his thighs and stared at the bulge concealed by his underwear. Sherlock shoved his hand past the elastic waistband and John arched his back in surprise when he felt a hand press against his cock.

Sherlock went back to kissing John while stroking his cock. It felt wonderful. And right. And how long had he been waiting for this? Craving this? Fantasising about this in the shower? It had been ages since the last time he had sex. Not much happened between himself and Mary. And when it did, it was boring and plain and not excited and –

“What's wrong?” Sherlock looked concerned when he felt John pull away. “Did I do something wrong? Did I – ”

“I can't,” John said, pulling away from Sherlock, moving to the other side of the bed. “I'm sorry, but I can't.” Drunk or not, he couldn't do that to his wife. They had pledged themselves to each other and the thought of breaking that just didn't sit right with him. She'd find out, no doubt. She was smart like that. Cheating would ruin their relationship. Probably cause a divorce. And what would that do for poor Eleanor? Eleanor needed her parents together, didn't she?

“I'm sorry,” John said again.

“No...it's fine.”

John felt suddenly embarrassed to be partially naked and pulled the bedsheets over himself. Sherlock backed away.

“I'll uh... see you tomorrow,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Yeah,” John agreed.

The next day John took a later train back to London.

 


End file.
